Le Roi de Séduction
by TheStealthClown
Summary: After a long, boring meeting, with America speaking and France flirting with him, England decides to ask France for some advice on the art of seduction and make it clear about who he really loves. France is torn on whether to give the advice and lose England or not give it and let England suffer. England may have a surprise for France. FrUK, Slash


**A/N: **

**Hey, this is a FrUk fanfic. My first ever, so please enjoy and I hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the characters.**

**?**

The meeting was getting very boring very fast. America was at the head of the desk, once again, spewing some nonsense about how awesome he was. Oh, how the younger nation was so full of himself. France smirked as he looked at the man across from him.

England tried keeping his eyes on the Superpower, but every five minutes or so, he looked across from him to the still-smirking Frenchman. When he realized France was staring at him, he quickly darted his eyes away and blushed. France leaned back in his chair, satisfied at being noticed, and kept on smirking.

"—And then after you guys leave, I'll come in and save the day!" America exclaimed in his usual animated tone. "What do you guys think?" he asked. Everyone was silent. "England?" he tried.

The Englishman gave him a huff. "Well, if you really want my honest opinion, I'd say that that idea is terrible. You'd be ridiculous to think that that'll actually work." America scoffed incredulously. "I would tell you to work as a team, but obviously, you'd rather be _independent,"_ England emphasized. America seethed.

"Oh, God, not this again. Sorry for asking. Sheesh!" England seemed ashamed to bring something so personal up at a meeting.

"Look, I only brought that up because I don't want you to go in alone and end up getting yourself killed," England corrected. The American's annoyed expression vanished.

"Aw, you're so cute, Iggy. Caring about me and all." England blushed red. "Now, back to the plan!" America rambled on, completely ignoring what the older nation had just said.

France narrowed his eyes at America calling the Englishman 'cute.' That was _his_ job, not America's. England, though, had returned back to his normal shade of pale and kept staring at America. France wished he would look back at him. The grin on his face flashed as he saw England look up at him one more time. This time though, France closed one eye abruptly and, with a tilt of his head, winked at the other. England blushed rosy-pink and tried fervently to keep his eyes on the nation speaking.

The other nations were oblivious to France's gestures. Once more England looked at France, to see if he was still looking and this time, the Frenchman lowered his eyelids seductively, puckered his lips and sent a long air kiss to his _amour_. The Englishman saw the gesture and blushed a deep crimson.

"Are you…flirting?" Canada asked in a whisper, keeping his eyes on England. He didn't worry about France ignoring him like the other nations.

"_Ben, oui," _France whispered back. Canada shivered at knowing that France, his older brother—practically his father figure—was flirting with the older brother of the nation that walked all over him.

"Oh, well, that's…" the Canadian was at a loss for words. He ignored the rest of France's little actions to England. "Nice."

After the meeting was over, England looked at France and then hurried out the door. The latter followed his love interest. Once out the door, where no one could see them, England turned around to confront the annoying stalker. "What the bloody hell is your problem, wino?" he demanded.

"My problem? I do not have one. What is _your _problem, _mon Angleterre?"_ France countered pleasantly.

"I-er…I need your help, frog," he said, hating asking the Frenchman for anything. France paused.

"Oh, and what might this favour be, _mon cher?" _He smirked. England tried his hardest not to blush, but failed. By now, he had looked up all the words used on him by the other in a French-English dictionary. It wasn't his fault he was paranoid to know if France was saying something offensive in French. But no, the words spoken were merely pet names. He didn't know which would bother him more.

"Well, since you're the '_Roi de séduction', _as you would put it, I think you'd be the most appropriate person to ask help from…Y'know, for seducing and stuff…" France was left speechless.

One: Since when did England have such a good French accent? And Two: Who was this lucky _fils de pute _that was about to be seduced by the second sexiest nation in the world, after France himself of course? France's surprise was washed over and he forced a smile. "So, who is the lucky one that is receiving the seduction?"

England's brows came together in annoyance. "He's tall, blonde, pale, handsome and extremely irritating," England snapped angrily. France imagined a loud-mouthed America popping into his head, being blonde, pale and irritating…maybe even handsome. He then imagined a large boulder falling randomly out of the sky right on top of the large nation. France shook the thought out of his head.

"If he is so irritating, then why would you want him to be yours?" France asked.

"Are you going to help me or not?" England ignored France's question. France smiled as best as he could.

"What would you like to learn first, _mon Angleterre?"_

"Well, how shall I begin?" England asked first. France thought of his most effective tactic. Even if England loved America, he might as well give him the best chance at succeeding in getting him. He would never cheat his _amour _out of love. He would never make England feel like he did every time he got rejected.

"Okay, before anything," France instructed, "ask if he is single. You do not want to be a 'home wrecker', as you English might say." England rolled his eyes. "Then, attract him visually. 'Dress to impress', _non_? Take off your jacket, maybe unbutton your shirt a bit. _Vous comprenez?"_

"Yes," England breathed in and took off his coat, placing it on a chair. He then grudgingly unbuttoned one of the top buttons of his dress shirt. France rolled his eyes.

"Oh, how daring you are, _mon Angleterre. _Come one, act cool, for once. Loosen up,_" _he mocked. England glared.

"Shut it, git." England unbuttoned another button.

"Much better. Very nice, _mon cher." _England blushed through his scowl. "So, _Premièrement, _you must get them warmed up. Smile at them brightly, beautifully. Then, perhaps, throw them a pick-up line, or a compliment. It is important that before they are fully comfortable with your advance, you compliment them above the neck. Understood?"_"_

"Yes," England replied.

"_Deuxièmement, _if he has not rejected you yet, send out a line and see if he bites. Start a conversation about something you know he likes. For example, you can start talking about sport's teams, politics, television, music…food," France remembered, thinking of America, "really anything. He can get to know you and you can get to know him. You are following me, _non_?"

"_Oui!" _England answered excitedly. France was shocked to hear a beautiful, wonderful French word out of that mouth. For years he had been trying to get the Englishman to learn only a few French words, but his stubbornness never allowed him to reach his goal. It was shocking and France was in a bit of a daze. Not only was his _amour _asking him for help for the first time, but he was also speaking French. It made him want the other more. "What do I do after that?" England's voice brought France back to reality.

"_Troisièmement, _if he has accepted your advances, you can compliment him below the chest. Make sure it's not something too perverted—"

England scoffed, "Pfft! I'm not you, wine bastard."

France winced. The closer he got to England, the more his insults stung. He tried to brush it off. He continued. "After that, all I can say is that, if he has accepted all your advances, you can get more daring. Give gentle touches. Caress his arm or his chest." England blushed a bit. "And then, you go in for the kill with a kiss."

"That's it?" England questioned. "And you're sure this'll work?"

"It works for the majority of the time with me," France shrugged. '_Except on you,' _he thought. He was torn on whether or not he wanted it to work for England.

"I'm not sure I can remember it all…" England trailed off. France smiled amiably at him. He swallowed his own pride and strong feelings of attraction for the other and gave him a proverbial hand.

"Would you like to give it a 'test run'?" France grinned.

"I think I would." England smiled back and took a deep breath.

"Okay, remember what I said. Now, pretend it is I who you love," he said rather painfully. He wanted to _be _the one the Englishman loved, not that _bâtard_, America.

"Remember, first, ask if I am single_._"

England seethed. "But I already know that you are!" he cried.

"It does not matter. What if I was having a private affair?" England gulped once and frowned. What if France _was _having a secret affair? The question caught him off guard, but he had to do this right, or else the seduction technique wouldn't work.

"So are you single?" he ground out.

France pretended to think. England grew impatient. "_Oui, _last time I checked." England rolled his eyes. "Now, give me your best pickup line."

England blushed red and nodded. He moved onto the next step. He thought for a bit, and told his best pick up line. "Oh, God. Um…let me think. Oh! Are you a crisp?…Because you look crispy to me."

France stared blankly at him and blinked. That kind of fail was beyond a simple facepalm. "_Sacre bleu!_ What the hell was that?" France gasped. "_Mon Dieu_! That was _terrible!"_ he kept a horrified expression. Why, or why, did he have to love someone so not smooth? "What the hell is that supposed to mean anyways? That I look delicious?"

"No. It's American slang. Crispy means fresh, clean-cut…Y'know, good-looking." England scowled, blushing. He wasn't lying before. This _was _his best pickup line…Obviously, it was only _his _best one. It wasn't his fault he was too proper to tell these often crude and perverted pickup lines that France had used on him.

"Oh," France laughed. "I supposed I have not yet perfected American slang." England scoffed. France cleared his throat. "Okay, now why don't you try complimenting me?"

England grumbled something unintelligible. "Well, this is going to be hard." France gave a good-hearted chuckle and England grinned. After a second's scan of the other nation's face, locking target on a complement, he looked straight at France and cleared his throat. "France, do you know that you have the most amazing eyes I've ever seen?" He blushed fiercely while saying this.

France shifted uncomfortably. This was a test to see if England could seduce America, not him. He was only hurting himself, by getting England to do this to him and, by now, it was just starting to get masochistic. Teasing never helped anyone feel too good. It was like waving a juicy, delicious hamburger in front of America's face and then snagging it away, right when he was about to take a bite, France thought. Nevertheless, he smiled.

"No, I did not know this," he played along, smirking.

"Well, you do. And you have the most beautiful hair, too." England blushed deeper. France smiled widely, apparently not noticing England's cheek colour.

"I thought you always said it was too messy," France said. England shook his head.

"It is too messy…but that doesn't mean that I don't like it," he admitted rather embarrassingly.

"_Donc, merci beaucoup, mon Angleterre," _he thanked in French. There was a short silence, before England remembered the next step France had showed him.

"So…you like wine, huh?" England asked conversationally, not being able to think of something to start a conversation with.

"How did you know?" France snickered, acting baffled and playing along with the test.

"Because I can smell your breath from here," England snapped, wanting to get past this silly chit-chat and get to his real prize for asking the Frenchie for help.

"Is it a good smell, _mon ami?" _France asked jokingly.

England pondered. "It's…not really bad. It's nice actually. It's a…comforting smell," England admitted, his cheeks growing darker. France stared at him. He wasn't expecting that answer.

"And, please, enlighten me, _mon Angleterre, _why is it so comforting?" he questioned, confused slightly. Why would anything about France be comforting to the fairer nation?

"Well," England started, clearing his throat in embarrassment, "I guess it's because…it's _your _smell and I like it. I mean…you know, not in a perverted way, but just because it's so familiar and I always smell it when I'm around you. Not that I try to smell you or anything! Because that's be weird—" France's eyes widened in surprise, as England rambled. It wasn't bad surprise, just surprise.

"Oh…" France trailed off, for once at a loss for words. Playfully, he asked, "What else do you like about me?" He expected a snide comment, but didn't receive one.

The Englishman blushed and took a minute to answer. "I like the way you look like you just got out of bed and, even though I make fun of you for it, I've always _loved _the way you dress like you did when we were still teenagers."

It was France's turn to blush at the compliments. He had never known that England would get so good at this seducing thing because, damn it, it was working. "Keep going," France instructed. England didn't even have to think. He just started and, baby, he wanted to get it all out. He was on a roll.

"I like that, even if we fight, you always have my back and you always brush off my insults." He paused to regard France's neutral expression. "I like that you're an amazing cook and that you're so cool, calm and collected. And even when I do get you angry, you always find a way to laugh it off."

England inched closer to the other nation. He got close enough to be nearly chest to chest with the other. He caressed France's arms. Suggestively, his hands started rubbing France's chest through the shirt he was wearing. Meanwhile, France was trying his hardest not to drool all over England's hair. To France, there was nothing like getting his ego inflated and getting his chest touched by his beautiful England, at the same time.

Though France was, in his own words, le _Maître d'Amour,_ he still couldn't believe his _Angleterre _was actually flirting with him. He didn't care if it was a simulation. It still felt pretty damn good. In the other nation's head, England was wondering how to go in for the kill. Should he do it? Would it ruin his friendship with France?

"I love how whenever you're around me, you always unbutton your shirt a little," England chuckled. France blushed because of his recent advice to England on how to 'Dress to Impress'. England got closer. He'd show France how daring he really was. He put his lips up to France's ear and whispered low, seductively. "And I love how your tight pants always accentuate your _perfect _arse."

France's knees almost buckled underneath him. He wondered how much of this he could take before he blew. His already massive ego was getting inflated to a ridiculous size and by England nonetheless.

France knew the simulation was pretty much over. So, sighing, he said, "That was very good. Very convincing. You do not have to do the last p—"

England's lips crashed on his own. France's eyes widened to the size of saucers and looked around for an exit to bolt for, when England punched him. But his eyes fell to the Englishman's legs, seeing that England had moved to his tiptoes to reach the taller nation. Huh. So England kissed _him, _and not the other way around? At least he wasn't getting a punch in the face for trying to pull anything. Besides, it was nice to see a little effort from the smaller nation.

France couldn't care less if England punched him after. All he thought about was the taste of chips and tea on England's lips, presumably from breakfast. France felt a tongue poke his upper lip and let in the intruder happily. He made a humming sound in pleasure as his tongue swirled along with the other. England's arms had snaked around the other's neck to grab at blonde strands. France had subconsciously moved his hands from the safe place on England's lower back to his firm ass.

France thanked his stars that England was more accepting of the contact than Romano was with his boyfriend.

Slowly, France broke off the kiss to take a breather. England pouted. "_Ben mon salaud," _France gasped.

"So, how was that?" England asked proudly. France didn't know how to answer that.

"Uh…That was _incroyable_."

"_Merci," _England thanked. France smiled and asked the question he'd been meaning to ask.

"Where did you learn to say those words in French?"

England's cheeks heated up. "Ha ha. To be honest, I kind of asked Canada if he would tutor me a bit." France waited. "I mean…at first I always thought you were insulting me and then I looked up the words you called me and they were…they were so nice and cute. So, ever since then, I've wanted to learn French, since you already know English and all. I mean, you took the time to learn English because of me, so it's just common courtesy. It's just that I know you take the effort to translate your entire conversation to English, when you're with me and I thought maybe I could repay the effort sometime…" It was typical of England to ramble when he was nervous.

"So…you are learning French _pour moi?" _England nodded shyly. France felt so proud, so honoured. "Can you say anything else?" England smiled and nodded. He wrapped his arms around France's neck once more.

"_Je t'aime," _he purred against France's lips. He pushed them further against France's, who in turn returned the kiss. Suddenly, he broke it off, leaving England puzzled.

"Wait a second…what about America?" France asked.

"Well…What about him?" England countered.

"I thought you wanted to seduce him…" England looked at him puzzled. When he realized what France was talking about, he snorted.

"Wow, you really are dense," he grinned. When France still didn't get it, England suppressed his incredibly strong urge to hit the French man over the head. The normal reaction to his stupidity, of course. "I was talking about you."

"B-but…you said you wanted to seduce someone pale and annoying. I am not pale and annoying, am I?" France stared at England with desperate eyes. It hurt more to be called pale than annoying. He knew he could be annoying, especially with his hypersexual behaviour, but pale? And after all that time in the sun, waiting outside England's window in the morning with binoculars for him to walk past the open window and catch a glimpse of the nation in nothing but his Union Jack boxers. But that's a story for another time.

"Er…you most definitely are. But I also said you were tall, blonde and handsome," England smirked flirtatiously.

"Then, I suppose that it is alright," France replied. "Come here."

England graciously complied, nuzzling against the Frenchie's chest. He wrapped an arm around the shorter man and kissed him heartily on the mouth. While he kissed his new lover, he made a side-note in his head to be careful. Now, he had competition for the title of '_Roi de séduction.'_

_/_

**A/N **

**Oh, snap! First Hetalia fanfic and it's a FrUK. This is my favourite pairing other than AmeriCan. I can somehow see them together with all they've been through together. I'm really hoping on writing a short fic about that whole Union Jack boxers thing. Anyways, I hope you liked. I kind of got this idea from my brother. I said that France always wants to get into England's pants and he said that England could easily get France to be his. So…yeah. Oh, here are the French translations. Just so you know, I used my Québequoise French for the translations…And, England, don't trust Canada for proper French lessons! We all know he speaks Franglais…**

_Amour: _love

_Ben, oui: _Literal is 'Well, yes,' but it's mostly used to say 'Of course' or 'Duh.' As if the answer is obviously a yes.

_mon Angleterre: _My England

Mon: My

_Cher: Sweety or sweetheart. Dear._

_Roi de seduction: King of seduction_

_Premièrement: Firstly_

_Deuxièmement: Secondly_

_Troisièmement : Thirdly_

_Oui : Yes_

_Non_ : No

_Vous comprenez: You understand? Or, 'understood?'_

_Bâtard:_ Bastard

_Sacre Blue_: Literal: Sacred blue. Kind of like saying 'Dear Lord, Oh My God, or Damn'

_Mon Dieu_: My God

_Terrible:_ Terrible

_Donc, merci beaucoup_: So, thank you very much

_Ami_: friend

_Maître d'Amour: _Master of love

_Ben mon salaud: _Well, I'll be damned

_Incroyable: _Incredible

_Pour moi: _For me

_Je t'aime :_ I love you


End file.
